


New Rhythm

by lar_laughs



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Clint brings Natasha to SHIELD, Community: be_compromised, F/M, Natasha sings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 20:46:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/891681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lar_laughs/pseuds/lar_laughs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>Continuity/Scene edits as of 7/21/13</b>
</p><p>It's the 1930's and the hottest club in town is The Widowmaker. Clint's trying to keep his head above water in an operation that has no chance of success. Up walks the lady of the hour, the owner of the club, and he finds he doesn't know up from down. It's all going sideways and Maria isn't happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Rhythm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anuna/gifts).



> Written for the [be_compromised](http://be-compromised.livejournal.com/318314.html?thread=6065514#t6065514) 2013 Promptathon. The prompt was _1930s gangster/agents AU. Clint is an agent trying to hunt down one of the worst gangsters New York has seen. Natasha Romanoff owns a bar/club/some kind of shady place (and it's more than meets the eye)and she is known to have lots of useful contacts. Can Clint win her over and convince her to help him and his fellow agents?_ from anuna_81 but this story was really inspired by the artwork created for the prompt by 4thdixiechick [here](http://4thdixiechick.livejournal.com/79751.html#t168839).
> 
> I tried to keep the slang appropriate but I'm much better at the 1940s-50s so please excuse anything out of time.
> 
> I should also point out that there is what I feel to be time-appropriate misogynistic undertones in parts of this story but that doesn't mean that both Natasha and Maria aren't BAMF in their own right. I tried to make that abundantly clear in the storyline.

The joint was packed with people by the time Natasha made her first appearance. Even though the lights were low, she still sparkled. It nearly took Clint’s breath away every time he saw her in her signature white gown (the slit up the side was just this side of scandalous with just a single string of diamonds and pearls for a touch of class and elegance. In among the dark suits and colorful dresses, she stood out as if a fancy chandelier followed her around as she made small talk with her clientele.

 _Look, don’t touch_ , he reminded himself each and every time they were this close. Just because he couldn’t have her (not that this dame was the sort of girl that could be had), didn’t mean that he didn’t want to try.

Across the dimly lit, smoky room, Clint could make out his contact. He sighed as he pretended he couldn’t see Maria Hill’s piercing glance even as she carried on a conversation with the salesmen from Oakland. What was it with his life and the sort of dames that could clock him a good one without breaking a nail? He was surrounded by them. All of them were the _Look, don’t touch_ sort. When this sting was over, he was going to get himself somewhere with a lot of sun and girls who wore very little as they served him pretty drinks with fruit wedged on the side of the glass.

The drinks here weren’t bad. Prohibition had only just been lifted so none of the alcohol was really any good. He didn’t have the kind of money for the good stuff, not that Fury would let him drink any of the good stuff while on the job. Still, Clint wished he had enough coins in his pocket to get a good swallow of something that burned down his throat, hitting his gut with a satisfying thud.

Since that was impossible, he accepted two glasses of wine (Clint could tell it was well watered down if it was truly made of anything from a grape) from the bartender after counting out the bills. Accounting was going to scream at him for the expense, seeing as the money was only supposed to be for show, but this time it wasn’t his idea. Everyone was drinking tonight so Maria had decided they’d stick out if they didn’t have a glass in their hand. The one thing they didn’t want was to stand out in this crowd of party goers.

“Hey, sailor.” The throaty voice coming from his right startled him enough that he nearly broke cover and pulled the tiny derringer from the pocket of his coat. It was only there for emergencies, Fury had reminded him as he’s put it safely in place. Everyone knew Clint couldn’t shoot his way out of a paper bag. Not with that sort of weapon. His hands already ached for his bow and arrows, not something that went well with this high-priced.

His look of surprise changed to a frown. When had Natasha moved out of his line of sight? She was just over there and now she was right here and he hadn’t seen her move. Some kind of agent he was, losing the one person he was supposed to keep in sight (ah, the horrors of his job) all night long.

She took his frown to mean that he didn’t like her choice of greeting. “You look like the sort of gent who could use a drink after a long time out to sea.”

He was a man who needed to get these drinks back to the table where he was sitting with his partner for this operation. After he sat them on the table, he would continue to play eyes and ears for any information about what was going on in the club when they were closed. All their informants could tell them was that it was _shady_ , whatever it was.

Now the woman behind the whole thing was standing here, offering him the chance to find out for himself. This opening was a gift from the gods and he’d be an idiot not to take advantage of it. Even though he could feel Maria’s glare piercing through him, Clint knew he had to take this opportunity; he doubted very much it was going to come around again.

Looking around the room, as if to indicate that he didn’t think she was talking to him, Clint made sure that the other two members of his group were blending in well with the crowd. The band was lively, mixing it up with fast and slow numbers so that the crowd didn’t have a chance to get out of control. Melinda had finally given up saying no to her admirers and had gotten permission to dance with a few erstwhile boys who looked barely old enough to shave. Grant, on the other hand, was leaning against the wall. He hadn’t smiled since they’d arrived. It was as good a team as he could hope for if things went bad.

And if Natasha was paying attention to him, things were going to go bad.

“It ain’t like that,” he drawled, pulling on the disguise he wore like a second skin. The streetwise gangster could have been his life if it hadn’t been for one fateful night cornered in the wrong alley. Now he was on the side of the angels, even though the boy he’d been was still right under the surface. “I’m just here looking for... entertainment.”

“You came to the right place. The Widowmaker always has plenty of... entertainment.”

His pulse began to race as he realized that the codeword was as good as they’d been promised. Better, maybe, if her sultry smile was any indication.

Her next words were like a punch to the gut, though. “I’ve seen you in here a lot lately. You aren’t looking for anything I can provide, Mr. Barton. How about you leave right now and I won’t call over those nice gentlemen over by the door.”

His cover was so far blown that he didn’t think there was any way to salvage his part in this operation. If he tried to fake it, she’d smell a rat and he would be as good as dead. Better he leave now and try to convince Fury that he wasn’t the one who’d blown their deal.

There was still something in her gaze. Something that was far more of a promise than her declaration to have him thrown out of the club. It was a personal challenge to get more out of her. To see what she might do. With the right words, she might just give in.

The right words weren’t his gift, though. He was a patient man, used to hiding out until the moment was right to strike. Fast and effective.

“At least let me leave here a happy man.” He held out a hand to her. “Dance with me?”

She looked down at his hand and then back up. “I don’t dance. Not here. It would set a precedent with the customers and I’d never have a moment to myself.”

Damn. He knew that, too. It was the first thing he’d learned when he’d visited the club. He’d ruined his one good chance to get more information from the one woman who could give them their first and only break in this case. Damn, damn, da-

“Besides, I’m due on stage in a few minutes. I hear you used to play a little. In your youth.”

Clint nodded, wary of where this was leading. It was supposed to be impossible to know anything about who he had been then. His parents were dead, and his brother had moved on to a different occupation than the one Clint had decided on. The place where he’d lived while growing up, if lived was the right choice of words, thought he was dead... if they ever thought of him, at all. “My youth was a long time ago. I don’t-”

She placed a finger on his chest, sliding it down his chest until she could get a good grip on his tie. “I won’t beg.”

It would have been impossible for her not to feel the erratic beat of his heart but he didn’t even care. He only let her lead him away from the din of conversation and the backup that was his only protection against the Black Widow herself.

\------>

Maria was seething when she got to the corner phone booth. She’d left Grant and Melinda in the club. It was against protocol to split up like this but she didn’t see a way out of this current situation without a miracle. Even still, she paused before starting to dial in the number of headquarters. It was a dedicated number and would go right to the switchboard but that didn’t mean this was a dedicated line. Anyone could be listening in. She really hated having to make calls from the field.

“June’s Corner Diner,” came the chipper voice on the other end. 

Maria was so angry she could barely remember the code words for this particular situation. “It’s Helen. Is Johnny there?”

“Johnny Heyner or Johnny Glifford? They’re both here tonight, hon.”

Was the earth going to end tonight? No, not really. She went for the second option - everything’s gone sideways. “Johnny Glifford.”

“Just a sec.”

When Fury came on the line with a growl of a greeting, Maria took a deep breath. “Grampa’s fallen off the tractor. You need to come home.”

“Off the... tractor?”

“Yep,” Maria chirped. She hated having to sound breathy and vapid, as if this character might (MIGHT) fool anyone on the other end of the line. It went against everything she stood for to pretend to be anything but competent. “Come home soon, Johnny.”

Before Fury could answer back, Maria hung up the phone and began the trek back to the club.

\----->

The first time anyone entered this particular brownstone for the first time, they wore a look of awe. It looked ordinary on the outside. It looked small. Nondescript. Boring. No flowers in the window boxes and definitely nothing that looked at all inviting.

It was nice to see that Natasha had that same look of awe as they made it through the front door guard (her name was Celia and she was 94 if she was a day but that woman still had the strength of a goliath and could lay anyone down that tried to get through the door who wasn’t supposed to be there) and into the official home of SHIELD. It was bright and clinical, nothing at all like the outside trappings. 

The first time Clint had been told the structure was a block long and several floors, both above ground and below, he hadn’t been able to wrap his head around the magnitude of this organization. From the look on Natasha’s face, she might have believed him if he’d brought up that fact. Of course, she was part of Red Room. Or, rather, she _had been_ part of Red Room. That thought cheered him.

Clint kept his hand on her arm, and not just because he wanted to stroke his fingers up and down her smooth skin. He wanted to make sure that they weren’t separated as they made their way down into the inner workings of headquarters. Fury would get a wedge between them soon enough. For right now, he could pretend he was walking her home after a nice night out on the town. That she wasn’t just one step above a prisoner now that she’d agreed to help them.

From time to time, he could hear Maria’s furious mumbling in a rhythm with her heels striking the slick floor. Clint knew he’d broken every rule but it had felt good to have a guitar in his hands again. It had been a long time since he’d played but she’d made it easy. Her voice, all low and rough, had been all that people wanted to hear. She’d given them a good show.

At the height of the clapping and cheering, she’d stepped to his side as if conferring about the next song. “The cavalry is here. You must really need something.”

“We need you,” he’d stated, plain as he could make it. “Take us to the people who run the R-”

She’d tugged him down, covering his mouth with hers before he could say the words of the organization terrorizing the world. “Guarantee you won’t leave me until this is over. I’m not going to put my neck on the line for just anyone. I want you, no one else, to watch my back.”

Clint was going to make sure that Natasha didn’t slip through the bureaucratic nonsense this place ran on. He didn’t care about fame or fortune. He wasn’t in this job to see all the wrongs in the world righted. At the moment, he was concerned with the woman at his side and nothing else.

As if she could read his mind (and he was beginning to think she could), Natasha turned to look up at him. Only one side of her mouth went up in a small smile but it was enough to get his heart thumping into the erratic rhythm he was starting to associate with that smile.


End file.
